Don’t let anyone disrespect the pelvis. It is connected to lots of important (and sensitive) stuff. Pubic and tail bone hello? It all goes out via pelvic ports too - solid, liquid or gaseous. Coughs, sneezes and belly laughs are all subject to pelvic permissions - which is being stubbornly withheld from me.
Luckily, the fractures returned to “anatomic alignment” so won’t require cutting me up to pin them. Other than the fuzzy vision and dizzy headed threat of another fall, the medical limit is just pain. The various strains and sprains - especially the grandmother of all groin pulls - were included at no extra cost. Speaking of cost... my Medicare kicks in next week! Oh now that hurts!
But I have escaped the dark
dungeon of County General and been whisked up to a bright and shiny home on the
hill - the San Francisco Veteran’s Hospital. An angel greats me, “Hello Mr. Stewart, I am Grace,
I’ll be your nurse tonight.” Too
late for dinner? David, the
kitchen guy supplies a choice of items to tide me over, including a huge frozen
burrito and half a dozen juice boxes.
Grace offers to nuke the burrito but after reading the ingredients comes
back instead with a fresh-made tuna salad sandwich.
Before midnight, ortho,
neuro, therapy and medicine doctors have all introduced themselves - and
replaced my covers each time.
Digital films are uploaded into the VA system and compared to my old
xrays on their iPads. All the
staff sport cell phone/text pagers - there is no loudspeaker. ZZZZzzzz!
I awake to find the window
next to my bed a solid grey. But
then the collar comes off, David brings breakfast, and the sun cuts away the
fog to reveal the white surf crashing on Ocean Beach.
Can this be heaven? Grace brings over her
replacements. “Good morning Mr.
Stewart. My name is Hope and this is Joy. We will be your nurses today. How did you sleep?”
- Resurrected Rod
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